Ornithology Abandons Athena

Your scorched throat calls out to nothing,
     nothing but rotten owls.
Owls, for so long so wise, dining on infinity.
Now there is no time left to sustain
     their elevated metabolisms.
They’re starving, hunting anything that moves.
Yet you dodge them so professionally,
     have done so all your life,
     let them pass right overhead
     with a wave of your hand
     and an unbroken stride,
     leave them decomposing in the treetops
     ever hungry for just a little more time.

Ornithology Abandons Athena

Sock it to me

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